


We'll Be Alright

by RogueTwelve



Series: Ever the Same [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Established Relationship, F/M, Heavy Angst, Mental Health Issues, Unplanned Pregnancy, but also fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24413197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueTwelve/pseuds/RogueTwelve
Summary: Clarke hasn't been acting like herself for a while. They've both noticed it. They both have different theories.They just need to convince themselves to actually talk to each other about it.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Ever the Same [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724509
Comments: 11
Kudos: 188





	We'll Be Alright

**Author's Note:**

> This technically takes place after my previous story _Sanctuary_ , but if you just really want to read a super angsty unplanned pregnancy fic without the ~200000 words of character development that come before it, here’s the quick and dirty summary:
> 
> Clarke was on vacation when she was kidnapped by a terrorist faction. As a Navy SEAL, Bellamy was sent to save her, but in reality they ended up saving each other. They were both horrendously tortured for 57 and 39 days respectively leaving them both physically and mentally scarred. Bellamy suffers from anxiety and PTSD. Clarke does as well though she is also dealing with MDD. She has attempted suicide twice. The most recent time Lincoln found her after she nearly died from an intentional overdose of her prescription medications. All of this took place around 5 years ago (we’re now 2 years post epilogue).
> 
> They’ve both moved on with their lives (as much as possible) and are happily married. Bellamy is a Virginia Beach firefighter, and Clarke is working on her MA in Art Therapy. Clarke has openly expressed the fact that she doesn’t want a child. She’s afraid of the consequences that would result from growing up with a mother with major mental health issues. Bellamy has always wanted kids, but he’s respectful of Clarke’s choice. At the end of the day he just wants her to be healthy.
> 
> That’s about it for relevant information, minus a hell of a lot of subtext. Seriously - go read Sanctuary first.
> 
> Title is a reference to Small Bump by Ed Sheeran (no, that isn't foreshadowing I promise)
> 
> Trigger Warning - see end of work

Clarke wretched again, her stomach feeling like it was trying to invert itself. There was nothing left for her to throw up. She wiped at her mouth with the back of her sleeve and sat back heavily. Beau ducked his head under her arm and started sniffing her face, his cold nose tickling as it glanced across her cheek.

She moaned, leaning into his solid body. She’d been sick without fail every day for the last two weeks. At first she’d tried telling herself she’d just contracted some kind of bug, but this had gone on way too long for that. There were other possibilities, but as time went on, the one that made the most sense according to her symptoms was also the one that seemed the most impossible.

She inhaled shakily, patting Beau on the head. She’d procrastinated long enough. It wouldn’t take much to either confirm or deny her fears. She just had to suck it up and do it.

Grabbing the edge of the bathtub, she hauled herself to her feet. She swayed slightly, feeling lightheaded – probably due to the fact that she’d barely been able to keep any food down for days.

She made her way to the sink and brushed her teeth. The reflection staring back at her in the mirror made her grimace. She looked haggard to say the least. Dark circles had cemented themselves beneath her eyes, her cheekbones jutted more than usual and her hair was an untamed mess upon her head.

Frankly, she was surprised that Bellamy hadn’t said anything - which was a testament to just how distracted he was. He’d been working so hard, picking up extra shifts when they were available, and laboring on the house whenever he could spare the time. The last thing she wanted was to add more stress to his plate.

Which was why she hadn’t said anything and instead tried to cover up any indication of just how off she felt, just hoping that her symptoms would resolve on their own. But if she was pregnant…

Air hissed out of her nose in a harsh breath. She was getting ahead of herself. The chances were unbelievably slim.

She patted her leg, signaling Beau to follow her down the stairs, then grabbed a thick jacket and the dog’s leash. The closest store was a bit of a hike, but that was okay. Beau danced happily at her feet, excited at the prospect of a walk – something she hadn’t had the energy for in days.

The crisp autumn air was refreshing as it cooled her skin. The leaves were just starting to turn and she focused on their color play as she hiked down the forested lane towards town. Beau scampered along the path, sniffing everything he could get close enough to reach. Clarke let out a relieved sigh. This was one of her favorite parts about the house Bellamy had had built for them - the calm and the tranquility.

She didn’t see a single other person until she’d made it to the small supermarket on the outskirts of Sandbridge.

Tying Beau to the bike rack, she patted his head and promised she’d be back soon. Then she tucked her head down, digging her hands deep into her pockets defensively, and trudged into the store before she could change her mind.

She wandered the aisles aimlessly for a while, just trying to dredge up the courage to walk toward the pharmacy. One of the employees gave her a weird look, and she realized she must have been starting to look suspicious, walking around the store without showing any real interest in the products. Squaring her shoulders, she made her way to the aisle she needed.

Once she’d arrived in the family planning section she froze. There were so many options it was overwhelming. Her eyes darted from package to package as a cold sweat broke out across the back of her neck. Suddenly it all became too real.

She snagged one of the small boxes at random then hurried to the self-checkout. As soon as she’d paid she slipped the test into her pocket and left the store, feeling like her lungs were starting to seize.

Beau seemed to pick up on her anxiety as soon as he saw her. His feet skittered on the pavement as he strained against his leash. She knelt by his side to untie him and he nuzzled into her chest, leaning his head heavily against her sternum. She stopped.

They’d originally bought Beau just as a pet, but he’d become so much more than that. Over the last couple of years he’d become an emotional support for her when Bellamy couldn’t be around, especially with his long shifts at work. If the dog was worried about her psychological state, she needed to pay attention.

She contemplated calling Octavia, but dismissed the thought. That would involve having to explain why she was freaking out so badly, and she wasn’t ready for that.

She stroked Beau’s silky fur for a moment and just concentrated on breathing. At this point everything was still completely hypothetical. There was no reason to be upset. Slowly, she managed to relax her muscles one tiny fraction at a time until she felt like she could at least function.

Having steadied herself – at least for the time being – she stood up. Beau gave her a weary look, but after only a light tug on his lead he started walking.

She moved robotically, placing one foot in front of the other. The scenery was no longer able to pull her attention and distract her, but at the same time in a weird way she was grateful for the length of the walk home. It gave her ample time to convince herself just how insane all of this was.

She tried to remind herself over and over that the chance that she was pregnant was infinitesimal. There had to be another explanation. She’d call her doctor and schedule an appointment to get some testing done as soon as she saw that little negative sign.

Except that her gut instinct still told her that it wouldn’t be negative.

At the house she set Beau free and slipped the test out of her pocket before deliberately taking her time hanging up her coat. Then she just stood in the entryway for a moment, staring at the flight of stairs in front of her that now seemed infinitely longer. Swallowing thickly, she placed her hand on the railing and took the first step. Beau pressed himself so tightly to her leg that she nearly tripped. She gave him a gentle push then continued her climb, her limbs feeling stiff.

She went straight to the en suite bathroom, figuring there was no sense in putting things off any longer. She told Beau to sit at the threshold then closed the door. He gave a sharp whine and her heart lurched, but she didn’t let him in. She couldn’t do this with a dog all over her.

She sat heavily on the edge of the tub and looked at the instructions. The further she got, the more the words started to blur as a dull haze obstructed her vision. After maybe the third read she thought she had enough of the gist of the information and tore into the package.

She nearly dropped the test into the toilet her hands were trembling so badly. Her teeth gritted together in frustration. It shouldn’t be so hard to pee on a damn stick.

Refusing to even look at it, she placed the offending object onto the counter then started a timer on her phone. Her chest constricted as she watched the numbers flash past. She once again reminded herself of the facts: IUDs were 99% effective. The chances she’d gotten pregnant were almost non-existent.

But then again, Dubai was also an incredibly safe travel destination. How had _that_ turned out for her?

A gasp ripped past her lips as her knees gave out. She sank down to the floor, her phone still gripped tightly in her fist. She _couldn’t_ be pregnant. She couldn’t be a mother. She could hardly be trusted to take care of herself most of the time, let alone a small, innocent child.

Her breath came in tiny sips, hardly seeming to make it past her throat. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She knew she was melting down into an anxiety attack, but she couldn’t stop it. Her hand itched to call Bellamy, but she couldn’t do it. He would know something was wrong the second he picked up the phone and she didn’t want to do that to him - especially not without a definitive answer.

The timer went off and she silenced it immediately, letting her phone drop to the floor but making no move to actually look at the results. If the test was positive… she had no idea what she’d do. She’d sworn to herself that she’d never subject a child to having a screwed up mother like her. But even the thought of termination – Bellamy would be devastated. Even though he’d told her –repeatedly- that she was all he needed, she knew how much he secretly longed to be a father. She’d seen the way he was with little Marie. A baby would mean the world to him, and knowing that he’d had that chance and lost it would almost certainly break him.

And a part of her would undeniably be shattered as well. She’d never allowed herself to even _think_ about having a child. But now that the possibility was staring her right in the face – now that she could picture a tiny human with a mess of chestnut curls and a smattering of freckles, and with Bellamy’s _heart_ – she didn’t know if she could just let that go.

Overwhelmed, her breathing continued to become more and more labored, until she felt like the room had started to nauseatingly spin. There was a dull thud on the bathroom door and an errant thought crossed her mind that Beau was trying to get to her.

Her body caved in on itself, chest curving around the twin sharp peaks of her knees. The air seemed to be getting thinner and thinner as if someone had sucked all of the oxygen out of the room. Her hands started to tingle, but when she tried to lift her head to look at them, nothing happened.

She needed to get up. Bellamy _could not_ find her passed out on the floor of the bathroom. Considering her history, it was just too much.

But no matter how much she tried, her muscles wouldn’t listen to her. She couldn’t even lift a finger. Beau continued to throw himself against the door. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed.

***

Clarke had been acting off for days. He wasn’t sure when he’d first noticed it - they’d both been busy lately. But the signs were there. Something was wrong.

It had started with her being more tired than usual. She had trouble getting out of bed in the morning – strange because she’d always been the first one to wake up between the two of them. And lately she’d been lethargic when he got home from work as well, asking if they could just lie on the couch and watch Netflix rather than do anything active.

He’d heard her get sick a couple of times and had thought that maybe she’d caught some type of bug or eaten something bad. But when he’d hugged her the previous day, her ribs had been sharp against his forearms. She’d lost a few pounds – weight she’d never really had to spare in the first place.

She’d had similar symptoms before – when she’d been dealing with the nasty side effects of heavy doses of anti-depressants. Part of him had a feeling that that’s what this was. She must have gone back on the pills without telling him.

Which was a problem.

Not that she’d switched back to medication to treat her depression – he’d always support her, no matter her treatment plan. But that she wasn’t talking to him. Their relationship had only ever worked when there was open communication between the two of them. When they were holding things in and hiding information from each other – that was when things spiraled out of control.

Which was why he was determined that they were going to talk it out that night.

He’d made a stop on his way home from the firehouse, picking up fresh acrylics and a new sketchbook – things that Clarke would appreciate more than flowers. And he planned on making her dinner. Mint tea and homemade chicken noodle soup – it would be easy on her stomach and was a nostalgic callback to the night she’d moved in with him.

He just prayed that she would open up.

He still held a spark of hope that everything could just be chalked up to stress. She’d had a lot on her plate recently with being close to finishing her master’s degree, and he’d been gone a lot, trying to make extra cash to help out with their mortgage. He vowed to himself that he would rectify that – nothing was more important than Clarke’s health.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized this had probably been going on longer than he wanted to admit. She’d been bedridden for days around their anniversary. She’d explained it away by telling him she’d had the flu. And then things had gotten better for a week or two. But Clarke had always been an expert at putting on a mask when she didn’t want the world to see what she was really feeling – it was a skill she’d learned in her childhood.

It hurt to think that she was hiding from him – that she was afraid that he would somehow condemn her for backsliding. It hurt even more that he’d once again been missing the signs.

He pulled up outside of their house. He would never get tired of the view of their little slice of paradise. It was a sunny day, and the wind that had been howling earlier in the week seemed to have calmed. Maybe he could coax her into going for a walk with him that evening if everything went well.

He gathered his gift from the passenger seat then snagged his bag from the back of the car and headed inside.

“Clarke, I’m home!” he shouted after he’d closed the door. He put the sketchpad down on the front table in order to take off his jacket and hang it in the closet.

He didn’t receive a reply, which wasn’t all that strange. Clarke often got caught up in her art or her studying and didn’t really hear him. What _was_ weird was that he didn’t have 60lbs of Aussie labradoodle jumping all over him. He heard a soft whine coming from upstairs.

“Beau?” he called as he toed off his shoes. Maybe the dog was sick. He felt a creeping sensation start to make its way up the back of his neck.

Beau came hurdling down the stairs, still crying softly. He licked Bellamy’s hand once then bounded straight back up toward their room. Bellamy’s heart rate picked up.

He rushed up the steps two at a time, wrenching on the railing to haul himself up faster. He caught sight of Beau through the open bedroom door. The dog was repeatedly jumping up, slamming his front paws against the entry to the en suite.

 _No._ Bellamy’s heart stopped. _Jesus Christ, no._

He hadn’t been the one to find Clarke the last time, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t haunted by nightmares of seeing her lying in a heap near the bathtub, skin and clothes stained with her own blood and vomit.

He sprinted across the landing, his legs failing to catch up with him to the point that he went down, skinning his elbow on the hardwood. He didn’t let it slow him, scrabbling to his feet while simultaneously reaching into his back pocket to fish out his phone. At the door, he rammed his shoulder against the jamb, not bothering with wasting time to check whether or not it was locked. The latch popped free and the handle slammed into the wall on the other side, punching a hole through the drywall. He barely even noticed.

He had so much momentum that he nearly tripped over her before he realized she was curled into a ball, leaning against the cupboard under the sink. He dropped his phone and knelt at her side, one arm going around her shoulders while his other hand found her cheek, trying to coax her face away from her knees so that he could see her. “Clarke?” his voice was too high, even to his own ears.

Eventually she relented, letting him lift her head. Her lips were tinted blue and her pupils were blown, but she was alive, and that counted for more than he could say.

He choked on a sob, wiping his face on the shoulder of his t-shirt while rubbing soothing circles across her cheek with his thumb. “Clarke, babe it’s okay. I’m here.” He told her hoarsely, pressing a firm kiss to her forehead.

She managed a shaky inhale, before continuing to hyperventilate.

Bellamy grimaced. She hadn’t had a panic attack this bad in years. He shushed her gently while hooking an arm under her legs. Lifting her briefly, he sat down then draped her across his lap, leaning her head against his chest. Beau had followed him into the room, and he wedged his furry head into the crook of her hip, his big brown eyes almost pleading.

Bellamy traced absentminded patterns across her back with his fingertips, continuing to whisper sweet nothings into her ear in the hopes that the sound of his voice would help her to calm down. Her hand found its way to his chest, planting itself right over his heart. He covered it with his own, forcing himself to take deep exaggerated breaths, knowing that he had no control over his still wildly galloping heartbeat that she could feel pounding against her palm.

His mind raced, trying to come up with what could have possibly set her off. Her dad had taken a step back from politics, her mom was doing better… there was the slightest chance that the video had surfaced – but he immediately dismissed that idea. Raven would have called him.

Which left other options, completely unrelated to what had happened to them. His thoughts strayed to other dark places.

Her breathing was starting to calm – enough that he felt like he could ask her some questions.

“Is Madi alright?” he probed, worried that something could have happened to the teenager. Clarke managed a small nod.

He let out a short breath, leaning his head back against the wood cupboard behind it, still trying to think. She’d been acting off for a while. Not just off, but _sick_. What if she had–?

His mind stuttered to a halt, not wanting to even think of the possibility.

He reached his free hand toward his phone where it had slid into the corner. Fumbling through the screens, he pulled up Jackson’s name on his contact list, thumb hovering over the call button. If there was something seriously wrong, the surgeon would know what to do. He could give them a second opinion, or treatment options, or-

Clarke must have seen what he was doing because she grabbed his wrist and pushed his arm down.

“I’m okay,” she croaked.

Despite himself, his lips actually twitched into a brief sardonic grin. He buried his face into her tangled mass of curls. “You and I have very different definitions of ‘okay’ Princess,” he told her sarcastically.

Her fingers twitched against his chest.

He shifted slightly, running his hand up and down along the side of her spine. “ _Please_ tell me what’s going on. I’m freaking out here, Clarke.”

She still couldn’t seem to form the words, but her free arm flopped out again, pawing uncoordinatedly at the edge of the bathtub.

He followed her movement and his eyes caught on a small white and pink box resting on the ledge. “What-?”

But then all of the sudden everything inexplicably clicked. He knew without needing to read the label. His mouth went bone dry. “Are you-?”

Clarke shook her head with a soft moan. “Don’t know.” After a couple more shuddering breaths she managed to elaborate. “Couldn’t look.”

He clutched her a little bit tighter, feeling his own anxiety continue to build. Beau lifted his head, tilting it to one side quizzically. “Okay,” he muttered quietly, not really sure who he was talking to. “It’s okay.”

He swallowed thickly, then counted his way through a few deep breaths of his own. Feeling slightly more balanced, he asked her, “Did you take the test?”

This time she nodded, burying her head further into his chest. “Okay,” he repeated, steeling himself. “Then we’ll look together.”

He fished around blindly above his head until his hand landed on the plastic stick. It was small enough that he could fit it almost entirely within his fist. He brought it down to rest against his thigh. His heart rate kicked up another notch.

He sighed, his arm tightening around her waist again automatically. Beau whined quietly.

He kissed the side of her head. “On three okay? 1… 2… 3-“

He flipped his palm up and just stared. Faint little lines glared back at him from their small windows, but he had no idea what they meant. He looked to Clarke for guidance, but she was squeezing her eyes tightly closed, blocking it out. He would have laughed if he didn’t feel like he was seconds away from losing his lunch.

He dropped the test onto the tile beside him then fumbled for the box. He tried to read it quickly, but the words all jumbled together. He read it again. There was no mistaking what the little plus sign meant.

“Babe, you’re pregnant.”

And that was it. He didn’t know what to feel. He didn’t know what that _meant_.

Sure, he’d always objectively been fine with the fact that she didn’t want to have kids. At the end of the day she was more important to him, and he understood. But they had always been talking about a hypothetical child. This one was _real_.

Of course he’d never force Clarke to go through with something she didn’t want to. He’d never even dream of it. But he didn’t know how it would affect _him_ if she decided she didn’t want this. He’d known for a grand total of thirty seconds and he already felt himself getting attached. It felt like every molecule of oxygen was suddenly ripped from his lungs as he waited for her reaction.

Clarke opened her eyes and seemed to stare at the small stick for a few long moments.

Then she _laughed_.

Bellamy’s heart lurched. He was so confused.

Beau stood up, wagging his tail as he licked her face incessantly. Clarke pushed the dog away, trying to turn farther into Bellamy’s t-shirt to save herself from the assault. “Of-fucking-course,” her voice was muffled by the fabric.

His heart was still in his throat. “Clarke-“

Her laughter died, turning into more of a wet hiccupping noise. Her fingers clenched. “Can… can we get off of the bathroom floor?”

“Yeah.” That sounded good. Get some distance, get some perspective. He stood up awkwardly, keeping a secure hold on her in his arms. Beau followed right at his heels. He carried her past the bed and down the stairs, finally putting her down on the sofa. He snagged her favorite fuzzy blanket off of the back and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders before straightening up. The world swayed for a moment. He wasn’t quite ready to talk about this yet. He needed to give himself something to do.

“I’m going to go make some tea,” his voice sounded dazed, even to his own ears. She nodded, not seeming to have really heard him. Halfway to the kitchen he stopped. “Can you even have mint tea?” He vaguely remembered Octavia mentioning something about having to watch what kind of tea she drank when she was pregnant with Marie.

Clarke just stared at him blankly.

“Never mind,” he muttered. He’d look it up on his phone.

He was relieved to find that not only was peppermint tea safe, it could also be used to help with her nausea down the road if it came to that. He filed that knowledge away for later use. Making two cups, he set them on the counter to steep. Next he put Beau out into the dog run, thinking that it’d be best if they weren’t distracted for their impending conversation. Then he brought the tea out, placing a steaming mug on the coffee table in front of her. It was her favorite one – the one she’d painted to resemble the black sand beach on the south coast of Iceland… her favorite location from their honeymoon. Maybe he was subconsciously trying to elicit that tranquil feeling they’d been absorbed in as they’d laid together beneath the Northern Lights.

He sat down on the opposite end of the couch, not quite touching her. He longed to reach out and hold her hand, but he felt like he also needed to protect himself, at least until he knew what she wanted.

She stretched an arm out from her bundle of blankets and grasped the tea with a shaking hand, bringing the hot liquid to her lips and taking a slow sip. She kept her eyes lowered, even as she put it back down, refusing to meet his gaze.

“I’m going to keep it.”

He couldn’t breathe.

He blinked for a couple of minutes, wondering if he’d misheard.

Seeing his hesitance, her brow creased and her face dropped. “Unless you don’t think I should-“

He launched forward, grasping her hand tightly between both of his own. “No.” Then, realizing that she’d have no idea what that meant, he elaborated. “God Clarke, I would never think that.”

Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. “I can understand why you would. I’m too much of a mess to be a mother. And I’m at a way higher risk of postpartum-“

He brought her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. “Hey. Stop thinking like that. We’ll deal with it if it happens – but I’m not worried. We know how to get help.”

She chewed at her lip, studying his face. “How are you so calm right now? I’m _terrified_.”

It was his turn to laugh. “Believe me Princess, I’m quaking in my boots.” He gathered her shoulders and turned her body, pulling her down so that her head was resting in his lap. “You’re sure?” he asked her, still not quite believing it.

She gave him a hesitant nod. “I think so.”

His breath left him in a whoosh. He started playing with her hair absently. He still had so many questions. She took his other hand and began tracing his fingers, lacing hers between his and tickling up their sides.

He leaned his head against the sofa back, staring at the ceiling. “How did this even happen? I mean – were you trying?” That didn’t seem right. It sounded stupid the second the words left his mouth, especially considering the way she’d reacted.

Clarke shook her head hurriedly. “Of course not. I still have an IUD.”

Bellamy froze. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

Clarke frowned. “I have no idea. I guess it’s something I’ll have to ask my doctor.” She cringed. “I’m going to need an OB-GYN.”

Bellamy sighed. Add that to the list of a million and one other things he was now worried about. His fingers resumed their mindless motion. “I want to come to your appointment,” he told her quietly.

She gave him a bemused look. “Of course you’ll be there. This is your baby too.” Her smile broadened as she brought one hand up and pressed it against his cheek. “You’re going to be a father Bellamy,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling.

Something in his chest fluttered. Those were words he never thought he’d hear. Tears gathered in his eyes, and instead of blinking them back he let them fall, unashamed. He turned his head and kissed her palm. “And you’re going to be an amazing mother Clarke Blake.”

He skated his hands down the front of her body until they cradled the flat plain of her lower abdomen, then leaned forward, giving her a languid kiss. It was a little awkward, considering she was technically upside down, but Clarke didn’t seem to mind, leaning up to deepen the kiss. She nipped at his lower lip, giving it a light tug, and he moaned, molding his lips over hers again.

Then a sudden thought popped into his head, and he pulled back with a low chuckle. Clarke shot him a questioning look. “O’s going to kill me,” he explained sheepishly.

Clarke rolled her eyes. “It’s probably way too early to be telling anyone.”

Bellamy raised an eyebrow. “Then O’s going to kill me in a few weeks.”

She laughed quietly, then grabbed him by the shirt collar and pulled him down for another kiss. He lost himself in the sensation for a moment, but then a new thought occurred to him. He sat back up.

“In less than 9 months we’re going to be parents.”

Clarke’s grip loosened before her hand fell back down to her chest. She pulled herself up, looking pale.

A fresh wave of anxiety washed over him at her reaction. He cupped her cheeks between his palms. “Clarke, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She shook her head, gripping his wrist. “No, it’s fine. I just-“ she trailed off, shook her head again. Then she met his eyes, her own looking lost and a little desperate. “Could you go get Beau?”

He nodded, then leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose. “I’ll be right back.” He stood up and went to the back door. The dog was waiting for him, his tail wagging frantically the moment he saw his owner. As soon as the door opened, Beau gave an excited yip and raced straight for the living room, his nails skittering on the hardwood.

He hopped up onto the couch and settled into Clarke’s lap. Bellamy sighed. He’d been trying to train the labradoodle to stay off of the furniture, but just this once he was willing to make an exception.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, just watching Clarke nuzzle into Beau’s thick, curly fur. Some of the tension began to release from his shoulders. _She was doing okay_ , he reminded himself.

That dog was probably one of the best purchases he’d ever made.

He pushed himself back to standing and Clarke looked up, her eyes maybe a little bit brighter. “Do you want me to start working on dinner?” he asked her quietly.

She shook her head, disentangling one hand to reach for him. “Stay with me just a little while longer.”

She barely even had to ask before he was crossing the room back to her. Still, he couldn’t help but tease her a little bit. “I don’t think there’s room.” He raised his eyebrow and gave Beau a pointed look.

Clarke smirked, then manhandled the dog until one corner of the couch was available. Bellamy slipped in, then she scooted back until she was sitting partway onto his lap again. One of his arms wound around her waist automatically, and he felt a little thrill go through him at the thought that he wasn’t just holding _her_ anymore.

She turned her head and looked back at him, her face partially obscured by her wild hair. “Do you really think we can do this?” she asked him nervously.

“I learned a long time ago not to question whether you’re capable of doing things,” he quipped, trying to lighten her mood.

Her hands stilled where they were petting Beau. “Bellamy I’m being serious.”

He absorbed that, tightening his grip while he came up with what he wanted to say. Combing his fingers through her hair, he tucked it behind her ear, making sure she could see the sincerity in his eyes. “I think that there will probably be some really tough days. But we’ve been through hell, you and I. And despite all of the odds being stacked against us, we survived. As long as this is what you want, there’s absolutely nothing that can stop us from getting through _this_ too.”

Her eyes darted down to where his arm was resting. She slid one hand underneath it to caress her still-flat belly and he threaded his fingers through hers, holding them in place. “This baby… it’s a piece of you and a piece of me and… I want it,” she whispered, her voice choked. “I want to be able to hold it in my arms and I want to watch you rock it to sleep. And god – I never thought I’d say any of this, but I want it. _I’m sure._ ”

His chest burned. He nibbled at her earlobe, then kissed the angle of her jaw. “I love you so much.”

She turned her head, their noses brushing against one another. Their lips came together in a gentle caress, filled with more than words could say. When they had to break for air, they came to a rest with their foreheads touching. He could feel her soft smile as her lips twitched up. “I didn’t even know this much love was possible.”

And he knew she was telling the truth. His hand clenched over hers, over _their child_. “Our baby will.”

She laughed lightly, and the sound was like music to his ears. He didn’t want to move. He wished that they could stay locked in that moment for all of eternity.

Eventually, Clarke pulled back, but when she did, he saw that the spark of playfulness that he loved was back in her eyes. He tried to cover up his relieved sigh.

“So… how attached are you to your office?” She asked him lightly, scratching behind Beau’s ears.

He looked at her quizzically. It was an odd change in topic. And she knew pretty well that he almost never stepped foot in that room.

She raised one delicate eyebrow with a small smirk. “We’re going to need a nursery.”

“Oh,” his jaw clicked shut. But then a laugh bubbled up from deep in his belly.

_They were going to need a nursery._

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: references to a past suicide attempt, panic attack, brief mentions of abortion
> 
> Ahh... so as mentioned in the tags, I originally wrote this as a character study born from anxiety that everyone would be mad when I wrote that Clarke didn't want to have kids. Turns out I have amazing readers and all of you were really supportive and I shouldn't have worried. But then the more that I worked on this little one shot, the more I fell in love with it. So if you're dead-set on the ending I wrote for _Sanctuary_ with just the two of them finding happiness together, pretend that you never read this. Or, if you want to follow this little family as they try to figure out living through trauma, join me for the next few little snapshots of their lives that I have planned.
> 
> I wasn't planning on posting this until next week, but I've been given an opportunity to head to the mountains for a much needed recharge and I couldn't pass it up. I'm not sure when the next story (where Clarke and Bellamy get to meet their little bundle of joy) will be up, but it's coming I promise!
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this with your comments and kudos. As always they're greatly appreciated ❤️


End file.
